


Burned. Banished.

by hearmerory



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Agni Kai, Banishment, Burns, Child Abuse, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Zuko’s Scar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27173002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearmerory/pseuds/hearmerory
Summary: Zuko turns around, and the general isn’t there.There’s a moment, before his entire world bursts into flame, when time stops.
Relationships: Ozai & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	Burned. Banished.

Zuko turns around, and the general isn’t there.

His father twists towards him, movements noble and smooth.

Zuko’s heart stops, and horror washes over him.

He cannot fight his father.

He remembers in flashes just how inadvisable it is to fight. How much quicker the pain goes away if he just submits to it. If he begs.

And there is no other option.

His father is the Fire Lord.

It is treason to shoot flames at the Fire Lord.

In the best, impossible case, Zuko fights, and wins, and kills his father in front of this crowd. Then he would be crowned, at thirteen, a murderer and an ignorant leader of a country he hadn’t even seen beyond the palace walls.

In the worst case, Zuko fights and loses, and his father kills him, and he dies without honor. He gets a traitor’s funeral, buried in the cold ground instead of burned and released to Agni.

He never joins Lu Ten in the Spirit world. He rots beneath the volcanic soil until there is nothing left of his soul to burn.

And if he fights, and loses, but is not killed in the duel... then he would be executed for daring to fight the Fire Lord.

There is no choice.

Zuko falls to his knees, and prostrates himself before his father.

As he has done so many times.

There’s a moment, before his entire world bursts into flame, when time stops.

Zuko sees his sister, her face still and stale, a sneering grin etched into her features.

He sees his uncle’s eyes close, his face turning away.

He sees the wide expanse of people, all staring.

The generals. The advisors. The nobles.

The servants who dressed him, who fed him, who rubbed burn salve into finger shaped marks on his arms.

Zuko hears the cheering. The jeers of _fight_ and _stand up_ and _fire lord_.

He hears laughter.

Tears stream down his face, and his heart throbs painfully in his chest.

Father stands over him, blocking Agni from his view.

Father is tall, and wide, and huge in his shadow.

Father glides gracefully towards him as he supplicates himself on the ground.

Sometimes, Father stops hurting him when he begs. Sometimes, Father will leave the training grounds with ten tiny burns and a slap to the face, and nothing else, if he says he’s sorry. If he pledges fealty for the thousandth time. If he swears to do better, to be better, to be anything other than himself.

But Father doesn’t stop.

He steps close enough for Zuko to see every feature in sharp relief.

Zuko’s arms shake, barely able to hold him up in his bow.

_You will learn respect._

He’d tried. He only wanted his people to be safe. He only wanted to protect his people. To save the young, inexperienced troops from a suicide mission. To respect the sacrifice of their soldiers.

He thought Father would be on his side.

He thought Father would protect his people too.

He thought Father would want him to speak up, would want him to disagree with that horrible plan, would want him to defend their nation’s honor.

Maybe he doesn’t know what honor is.

_And suffering will be your teacher._

Father’s hand is huge.

Father’s hand, which had struck him so many times before, which had burned hand prints into his arms and bruised his back and bloodied his face, stretches out towards him.

Father’s hand cups the side of his head, and he almost wants to lean into it. To hope that it’s forgiveness. To hope that his thumb will swipe under his eye and wipe away the tears.

The hand shifts, and the palm is over his eye, fingers extending into his hair.

Zuko has a moment to hear that the crowd has gone silent.

That no one is cheering anymore.

And then the world explodes.

The pain rips through his eye first. A white hot flash of indescribable agony, melting and bubbling through skin.

It spreads, slowly and quickly, across his face, his cheek, his ear.

His hair burns.

His skin burns.

The hand does not retreat.

Zuko hears screaming, and wonders dully if it’s him in the moment before his voice gives out entirely.

He burns, and there is nothing else. Nothing but the sheer desperation of feeling his skin melt.

And then the hand is gone, and his arms give out and he’s on the ground, his forehead hitting cool marble.

There is nothing but pain.

_Shave him._

He hears the order from his right side.

There is nothing on his left.

No talking.

No whispering.

No sound.

Hands lift him to his knees, and his right eye opens a crack.

Uncle is gone.

Azula is staring, her face completely unchanged.

Father watches from a few feet away, his arms crossed over his impossibly broad chest.

The hands holding him up are not gentle. They push his limbs into place.

Someone grips his Phoenix tail, his ceremonial tie to his nation, to his ancestry, to his honor and loyalty and status.

The hands on his arms disappear, and he’s held up by his hair.

He slumps forward, unable to bear his own weight, and he feels the tug at his scalp, but it doesn’t hurt.

Nothing could ever hurt again.

Not like that.

Bile rises in his throat as the world spins.

His left is black and red, flashes of light burning across the expanse of darkness.

His right is full of silent generals and advisors and nobles.

The hand tightens in his Phoenix tail, and he feels the scalpel touch his skin, sheering through the hair around it.

He sees the strands falling to the ground.

He feels the breeze blow across uneven patches of bare scalp.

The hand leaves his hair and he falls forward, barely catching himself on his hands.

Beyond the pain, beyond the scalding agony that blisters through his face, is the shame. The humiliation. The terror.

Everything spins. His ear rings, and spots of light fill the left side of his vision.  
  
The pain is all encompassing. It obliterates thought and feeling and understanding. He is nothing other than the pain.

Father still stands over him, watching.

 _The coward prince,_ Father’s voice is loud, echoing through the silence of the chamber, _refused to fight. I will not tolerate this shameful weakness._

Zuko can’t breathe.

An Agni Kai is usually to the death.

An Agni Kai gives the winner the right to strip the loser of their honor, their titles, their lives.

_Prince Zuko will return to the Fire Nation with the Avatar. Only then will I restore his honor to him._

The bile rises again. The Avatar.... the Avatar is a Spirit Tale. A myth. The Avatar died one hundred years ago. The Avatar does not exist.

 _In my wisdom, and my mercy, I will spare his life. Prince Zuko,_ Zuko looks up, and the world tilts on its axis, _I sentence you to banishment under the Light of Agni. You will be gone before dawn._

The bile releases, and Zuko retches, heaving his shame onto the sacred marble of the stage.

Banished.

Zuko pitches forward, unable to hold himself any more.

Banished.

His face lands in the small pool of blood and vomit in front of him, his hair scattered in tufts around his head.

He burns.

And he feels nothing else.


End file.
